Finding Utopia
by iamxxxxlocked
Summary: John Watson swore he would never trust anybody again, but that all changed after he met Sherlock Holmes. Now, right after his fall, John is facing the consequences of letting himself get too attached. How is he supposed to go on with his life without his companion? This is the story of how he tries to pick his life up once more with his best and only friend supposedly dead.
1. Prologue

Despite how warm the winter day was supposed to be, John couldn't help but find it cold. Terribly cold. That's all the world was anymore. There was no light, no warmth...nothing to guide him through rough times. There was just darkness. Bleak and never ending darkness. He tucked his head downwards, shielding himself against the wind...and the people. He didn't want to see the people. Them running about doing their usual mundane things, shopping, chatting, having a cup of tea...it was like nothing had changed. The world still remained the same...and that just wasn't right. It wasn't fair. How could they go on, how did they continue without a care in the world when the most brilliant man to ever walk this earth had just jumped off a building? When his only _friend _had just committed suicide?

John found himself looking upwards at the sky above him, stars just beginning to dot it. How did the earth continue it's orbit around the sun, remaining on it's axis as if nothing had changed? Why didn't that brilliant ball of gas the sun burn out completely. It would be a lot easier if it did...if the world just stopped permanently. Because John didn't want to know life went on without him. That other people were able to cope when he so much just wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. They were able to go on with their meaningless activities...why couldn't John? The answer was simple. Because when you walked with Sherlock Holmes, you saw the world in a new light. he changed _everything _about the way you thought of things. He made you observe every single dew drop, made you look through every single person that passed you on the street. The whole world around you was suddenly intensified. It was like putting on glasses, John guessed. Changing the way you saw things from blurry to crystalline clear.

He slipped his clenched fists into his pockets, feeling the solid object that was in one of them. The thing he never left home without: his gun. There was no denying that John Watson wanted to die. What was the point in living anymore? Without Sherlock...he had nothing. Absolutely nothing. There was no real purpose in existing. The world...it wouldn't miss him. Doctor John Watson was just another face in the crowd. Nobody remembered him, so how on Earth would they forget him? Perhaps Harriet...but she would move on. They weren't that close. All the others, they didn't give a damn whether he lived or died. The world wouldn't miss him, maybe they'd even appreciate him for cutting back the world's over population issue. What if he were to just shoot himself right now? End it all...the pain and suffering. He wouldn't have to feel anything anymore. Maybe if there was such a thing as Heaven and Hell and angels, maybe he would be able to reunite with his one friend. They could live together again and bicker like an old married couple for eternity. Things could be _normal _again.

A body collided with his own, forcing the doctor to stumble as he walked. His blood shot eyes snapped upwards, looking at the face of the stranger who he had bumped into so carelessly. He looked to be in his mid twenties, a smoker, judging by the state of his fingernails. His breath smelled heavily of spearmint gum, a drinking habit that his girlfriend wasn't supposed to know about maybe?

"Sorry, man I wasn't..." The younger man's hazel eyes twinkled in recognition at who he had bumped into. "Hey, I know you! Big fan of your blog, really!" The boy extended his hand, but John merely looked at with confusion and repulsion. The other one blinked hard before dropping the hand back to his side, only now cluing in as to why the older man might not want to discuss his blog. "Listen, I heard about what happened to your partner, Sherlock. It's a shame what he did to you...lying and all of that and then jumping off the roof...if you ever need-" The sound of his voice was cut off by John roughly pushing past him.

"Hey!" He heard the kid call out "You are Doctor Watson, aren't you?"

At this, John turned and finally acknowledge his fans presence. His eyes brimmed with oncoming angry tears that he would never let fall.

"You're wrong" He said, just loudly enough for the other to hear.

"I'm nobody" And with those words said, John slipped back into the crowd of people and kept his head down low once more, flipping the collar of his jacket up as Sherlock always used to.

It was all to easy to disappear into the swarm of people, leaving the poor young man confused as to what had just occurred. John was gentle and forgiving, he was warmhearted and compassionate. He was the heart to Sherlock's brain. But this heart...it had broken. It had broken far beyond repair. There was no way of fixing it. The doctor couldn't even heal himself. The only cure was Sherlock, to raise him back from the dead and let him walk with him once more. That wasn't going to happen. Not in his lifetime at least. He couldn't get back the thing he had lost...it was gone. Forever out of his reach.

When he had reached his destination, John swung the door of the pub open. He had never been one for drinking, not after what he saw harry go through. But this...well...this was different. Drinking took the pain of Sherlock away, it erased his death from his memories...it brought him to a utopian world where he could be at peace. "Back again, John?" The bartender questioned, wiping his hands off with a cloth as John Watson took a seat on one of the barstools. Without hesitation, he slid a glass of cold liquid towards the customer that he had just greeted.

Curiously, John raised a pale eyebrow and sniffed the clear drink. Water? The bartender leaned against the counter, eyes locking onto John's bloodshot one's. "Some fellow told me to give you a glass every time you took a drink, left a handy tip for it too. He's right over...hey..." John's eyes followed the fat finger of the bartender but found nothing in the direction he was pointing. "He was there a second ago" He muttered before straightening himself up. "I'll have a scotch.." the doctor muttered absentmindedly to the one who was serving him, not truly paying attention to him. His eyes were still fixed at the table the bartender had pointed at. For one breathtaking moment, he thought he saw a flash of those unique and brilliant eyes he knew to be Sherlocks. John blinked, rubbing at his eyes furiously before looking at the exact same spot again and finding nothing was there. "Make that two..."


	2. 97 hours 28 minutes and 33 seconds

**Chapter 1 : 97 hours 28 minutes and 33 seconds**

Rain pounded harshly against the glass windows as the two sat in the office. John with a hand on his face and the other a therapist he hadn't spoken to in over a year, well prepared with her notepad. It had been raining for two days in a row now, as though the angels were weeping because the soul of Sherlock Holmes had to leave the Earth. If those angels could cry, why couldn't he? Why wouldn't tears stream from those blue eyes when they longed to come out? Instead, John had been letting out harsh yet dry sobs...why couldn't he just get the crying over with. He could hear as the wind whistled loudly outside, the world in torment...just like he was. Caught in a storm that seemed to be endless. Never in all of his life had he ever felt such a numbness as he felt now, never had he felt like he wanted to die. It was strange really, almost humorous...how much one arrogant yet astounding man could have such an influence on a person's life. One man...that's all it took to change John's life around. Whether it had been for the good or the worse though, John wasn't able to tell. All he knew was that he wanted the life he had the pleasure of tasting back. He didn't care if he was worse off, it's what he wanted more than anything. He wanted Sherlock. No...he needed him. Because living in a world without Sherlock Holmes was like no pain he could have ever imagined. He had been his friend. His only friend...dare he even say best friend. Sure he could be an annoying dick...but that didn't change the fact that John would have done absolutely anything for him if he really needed it.

"John?" Ella Thompson questioned. At the sound of his name the man jumped slightly in his chair, forced back into reality from his thoughts. The female gave a deep sigh. "Have you even heard a word I said?" John bit down on his lip lightly, never being a man fond of lying. "Forgive me if I'm a bit preoccupied with my thoughts" John uncharacteristically snapped before rubbing a hand across his face.

"Tell me what you're thinking" The therapist guided as soothingly as she possibly could.

"I..." John began, trying to find exactly the words to say. He swallowed a lump gathering in his throat. "I miss him" was all he was able to get out. Oh he was thinking so much more than that...but how could he tell her everything that was on his mind? There were so many things...so many thoughts that remained unsaid.

"That's only natural, John. What else are you feeling? maybe a bit...angry?" Dr. Thompson tried to prompt again. This time John only shot her a dirty glare with piercing blue eyes.

"If you're implying that Sher...that he...that he lied to me...then you're wrong" John stated confidently with his chin raised.

"All the evidence is stacked against Sherlock Holmes, John. You know that."

"Stop it!" John demanded, slamming a hand down on the table that separated them so roughly that it made his hand sting. "Let me make one thing very clear. There is nothing, absolutely nothing that will convince me that Sh- that he lied to me!"

Ella shot him a look that was both full of skepticism and sympathy before scribbling down some notes with her pen. Rather curiously, John leaned forward to see what she was writing.

"I'm not in denial!"

Ella only raised a thin and dark eyebrow at him before setting her pen down gently beside her. Her hands folded and leaned against her chin.

"John, listen to me. It's been 4 days since..."

"97 hours, 28 minutes and approximately" John cast his eyes down at his watch "33 seconds" He corrected her.

Thompson gave a defeated sigh at his response. "My point is you're still grieving, so it's perfectly natural for this to be happening to you. You don't want to believe your friend lied to you right now but eventually you're going to have to come to terms with that fact, I'm sorry, John." Before he even had a chance to contribute to the conversation, his therapist continued on. "I've signed you up for grief counseling with Dr. Morstan. It's held here every Tuesday and Thursday...and I really think you'd benefit from going" John gave Ella a blank stare. He didn't want to...no...he didn't need to go to some ridiculous grief counseling. What he needed was Sherlock. That's all he ever needed, wasn't it? Sherlock was always there to protect him, always there to lean on when he felt as though he was about to fall. Sure he could be a pain in the ass most of the time...but that didn't stop the fact that John needed him in his life just as much as needed air. So, John merely shook his head at her suggestion.

"I'm sorry...but I can't"

"John" Ella sighed, obviously trying not to get angry at the former military doctor. She leaned her slender body forward, hands cupped under her chin. "Please? Just one. Then if you don't like...you don't have to continue going." Another shake of his head followed.

"You need to begin moving on. You need to start living again"

"I need him" His voice was a mere whisper, cracked and broken as what felt like the millionth lump formed in his throat causing him to choke back on the dry sobs.

"It's going to be hard. He's only been dead four days...but it's better to-"

"97 hours, 28 minutes and about..." John took a quick glance at his watch, tilting his head to the side lightly. "33 seconds." He corrected, looking at Ella straight in the eyes.

"John..."

"If you think I can live a life without Sherlock Holmes then you're wrong. Dead wrong."

"You managed to before you met him" The therapist reminded gently.

"Mrs Thompson" John said with such calmness that it was so unsettling for the woman it made her shift her weight back and forth in her chair. "When you walk the world with Sherlock Holmes, you start seeing things. Suddenly...it's like you were a blind man before and have just been given the beauty of having sight. your whole world changes from shades of grey and black and bursts into all the colors of the rainbow. Everything is so bright...so clear...when you walk with Sherlock Holmes you don't miss any little detail." His voice never shifted from the calm tone he kept. "For instance, I can tell you were just at another man's house...a man who was clearly not your husband. He cooked you breakfast this morning but you were in such a rush to get to work that you had to finish it in the car." Now, John Watson had never been nearly as good at deducing people as Sherlock was but he had learned some helpful tips. While Ella sat with her mouth formed in a small 'o' John rose from his chair, using the arms of the chair to help him for support until he could reach his cane which he found himself relying on more and more. "This session is over. Thank you for your..._input" _John shot her an uncharacteristic sneer before hobbling over to the door and twisting the doorknob, leading himself out of her office. How dare she say he could live without Sherlock...what did she know? Nothing. She hadn't met the man. She didn't understand how much of an impact he had on him...on the entire world. The world needed Sherlock Holmes...how could the world keep on spinning on it's axis when such an important soul had been taken to the Heavens?


End file.
